


Is This Coffee Mug Trying to Tell Me Something

by saiikavon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, KlanceSecretSanta2020, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Teen Romance, exes to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiikavon/pseuds/saiikavon
Summary: Lance got his heart broken five years ago. Now he's managing the farm his grandparents used to run and he's doing just fine...at least, until his ex rolls into town and asks for a job.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Past Keith/Lance (Voltron) - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Is This Coffee Mug Trying to Tell Me Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swordfaery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordfaery/gifts).



> Written for swordfaery on tumblr. I was your Secret Santa! I really hope you enjoy it, and thank you for your interesting prompt! It was an exciting new experience for me.  
> This piece really ran away with me, so I do plan to continue the story, but it can be read as a standalone.

The farm looks best in the early rays of dawn. The flowers and fruit trees almost glow with a soft, dewy light, like their colors had been painted on with a deft hand. It’s quiet and calm in such a way that would have made teenage Lance’s skin itch, but now leaves him with a little happy ache in his chest. The farm seems smaller now than it did when his grandparents ran it, but it still amounts to a lot of work when he’s the only one managing it. Still, it’s amazing how it all feels worth it when he gets to see the coffee-colored mounds of soil lining the field like a miniature mountain range, warmed by a bright yellow sunrise.

That being said, Lance never actually considered himself a ‘functioning’ morning person. Routine helps—making sure all the crops get watered at the right time, making sure all the animals get fed, making sure everything gets cleaned—but generally he starts his chores while downing enough caffeine to supercharge a car battery. He bought one of those fancy insulated mugs with the airtight lids, so he could set it wherever he needed to without worrying about spillage or about the cows trying to sneak a taste when he wasn’t looking. His neighbors would mock him endlessly if they ever found out how much it cost, but it’s still one of his favorite purchases.

Lance steadily works his way through the barn on this exceptionally beautiful morning, cleaning out stalls and sipping from his mug every so often. He lets the cows wander out to enjoy some time in the pasture, and by the time he’s heading over to the pigs with a bucket of slop, he’s feeling sufficiently awake.

This is probably why the universe sees fit, at that moment, to deliver him a massive slap in the face.

It’s the black hair he sees first, longer than he remembers, but curving about the pale face just the same way it always did. The shoulders are broader, jaw more defined, but there’s that permanent pout on those pretty lips and those eyes that he once compared to a ‘gorgeous night sky.’ Lance takes in the full picture: a tall, grizzled man in worn jeans and an oversized bomber jacket with a face that knocks Lance right back into the past.

Keith Kogane, the boy who broke Lance’s heart five years ago, is standing there right in front of the pig pen, holding onto the leash of a truly massive dog and rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to say.

Lance’s hands shake, and he drops his incredibly expensive coffee mug into the bucket of pig slop.

***

It feels wrong, somehow, having Keith in his grandparents’ house, sitting at their kitchen table. Not that Lance had anywhere else to put him. He feels like something bad is going to happen if he leaves Keith to wander around the farm unsupervised, so he tells Keith to hold onto whatever thought was in his mulleted head and drags him back to the house to wait while Lance washes the pig slop off of his mug (and himself). To his credit, Keith listens, sitting at the table as dutifully as the dog sitting by his side.

It’s still sort of jarring to see him still sitting there by the time Lance emerges from his shower. If he’d left, Lance could have convinced himself that he’d had a really messed up early-morning hallucination, but no. He’s still there, leg bouncing nervously under the table and his eyes looking everywhere but at Lance.

Lance lets his hair-towel fall loose around his shoulders, then sits at the table with a heavy sigh.

“So. Here you are.”

It comes out more like an accusation than a question, and Lance feels a small twinge of petty satisfaction as Keith’s shoulders tense up.

Good. He wants Keith to squirm.

“Kind of a surprise for me. Thought you went off to some fancy flight school or something. Not that I actually know that’s where you went, since, you know, you never actually told me where you were going. I just assumed because we used to talk about flying a lot. When we actually talked, that is.”

Keith huffs loudly, and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, Lance, I didn’t come here to fight—”

“Would you have come here at all if you knew I was here?” Lance snapped. “Bad news for you, buddy, I’m running this place, now. Whatever you were hoping to get, here, you’d better hope I’m feeling generous enough to give it to you.”

Silence reigns between them again, but Lance won’t be the one to break it this time. He waits while Keith slowly unlocks his muscles, from his bone-white knuckles to his clenched jaw. The dog at his side lets out a soft whine and noses at his fist, prompting him to give it a shaky pat. Then, finally, he begins to stand up, weariness in his posture and in his eyes.

“Obviously, it was a bad idea coming here, so I’ll just—”

“Just tell me what you want, Keith,” Lance says, his tone clipped. He thinks he knows why Keith is here. He’s sure of it, actually. But he waits until Keith sits down, because he wants to hear him ask for it. Keith was never the best with social cues, but it seems he can read Lance loud and clear. He meets what’s surely an entirely too-probing gaze and sits back down.

“I came to ask for a job,” he says at last.

Lance crosses his arms over his chest. “And why should I hire you?”

Keith looks at him helplessly. “You know I can do the work, Lance. You were here every summer that I was.” He hesitates when Lance doesn’t answer right away, then adds, “It’s just for a few months. Five at most. After that, you’ll never have to see me again.”

Lance considers it. Curiosity creeps on him, though, and a second later he’s leaning forward, one eyebrow raised. “Why’d you come back?”

Keith stiffens again. “I…is that important?”

“You want me to hire you?”

Keith lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. It’s…my dad.” He swallows. “He, um…he passed away. A couple months ago.”

Well, if that wasn’t a punch to the gut. Lance’s anger fizzles like an old sparkler, simmers at the pit of his stomach, mixing with the guilt he feels for having dragged that out of Keith. The past hurts, and he’s still angry, but this takes the venom out of his fangs.

“Oh. Keith, I had no idea...”

“It’s fine. It…was really sudden.” Keith rubs the back of his neck. The dog lays its huge head on Keith’s lap, and gets a smile in return. “I’m just here to go through his stuff at the old place, but I need an income while I’m here. Can’t exactly…use my inheritance yet, not until all of his assets are handled.”

“Right.” Lance feels strangely numb. “No, I get that. That’s…sort of why I’m here, too, actually? I mean, it’s different, my grandparents are retired, not—but, yeah, someone needed to take care of the place until we found a buyer.”

He clears his throat. He’s babbling. He babbles when he’s nervous. Keith seems to remember that, because he’s giving Lance that fond smile that always made his stomach feel swoopy and Lance has to look away before he gets too lost in memories.

“A-anyway, point is, I’m not gonna be a jerk and put you out. You could use the money and I could honestly use the help. But!” Lance points in Keith’s direction, startling both the man and the dog for a second. He fixes Keith with a hard stare.

“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for what you did to me, Kogane. While you’re here, you do the work, and then when you’re done, you’re gone. Got it?”

Keith nods. “I got it.”

Lance leans back again. “When can you start?”

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Kosmo, too, if that’s all right. He’s part cattle dog, so he’s good with animals.”

The dog in question barks at the sound of his name, his tail wagging happily. He’s been pretty obedient so far, so Lance sees no reason not to believe Keith on this.

“Fine.” He waves a hand dismissively. “First thing in the morning. You know when chores start. And speaking of which, I still have mine to finish, so scoot.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Keith stands and Kosmo stands with him, awkwardly still for a second like he’s thinking something over, then he begins shuffling towards the door. Lance makes no move to see him out, and he doesn’t seem to expect it.

He stops at the doorway. Turns for just a second, and Lance gets lost in those starlit eyes once again. His breath goes utterly still in his chest.

“For what it’s worth, Lance? I’m sorry.”

When Keith walks out the door, Lance feels like he just had the wind knocked out of him. It takes him a solid half hour to drag himself out of his chair to go finish his chores. He winds up overwatering the tulips and slides the barn door over his foot while closing it for the night, because his mind is still all wrapped up in _Keith_.

He has no idea how he’s going to survive these next few months.

***

There are several things Lance knows he will never forget about Keith Kogane. The way his eyes narrowed when goaded with a challenge. The way he cocked his head like a curious puppy when he was confused. The fact that his hair felt like the softest silk between Lance’s fingers. The fact that the smells of the barn and the soil became somehow intoxicating when settled onto Keith’s skin. These things, topped with the fact that he’d shattered Lance’s heart completely when he left without so much as a goodbye all those summers ago.

Yet, amidst all those details, it had apparently escaped Lance’s memory that Keith Kogane is _ridiculously_ punctual.

The reminder is rather like a splash of cold water, in that it shocks Lance awake in an instant and leaves him sputtering when he walks out onto the porch and finds Keith already there, standing as obediently still as his dog beside him with his hands in his pockets. Lance yelps loudly and once again drops his mug, this time into the bushes that line the house.

“What the _cheese_ , Keith!” Lance pats his chest, feeling like he’s just run a marathon. “How long have you been _standing_ there like a weirdo?”

Keith frowns and cocks his head, having the sheer _audacity_ to look as cute doing it now as he did when he was a teenager. It really isn’t fair, not when Lance is still determined to hold a bit of a grudge.

“What do you mean?” Keith asks. “We agreed on the usual time, so that’s when I got here.”

“You could have _knocked_.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be _late_ ,” Keith counters, still frowning. Lance throws his hands up in the air.

“Well excuse me for needing _five minutes_ to get my coffee! Geez!”

Keith makes a face like he’s about to sneeze, but then silently fishes Lance’s mug out of the bushes, muttering a very grouchy apology. Lance snatches it back and then takes a long sip while glaring at Keith over the rim. He tries not to think about how this little stare-down reminds him of how they first met.

At least, it does until Keith turns his gaze away, brow furrowed in a wearied way that makes Lance’s stomach twist. He gets caught up in Keith’s stormy expression, wondering what thoughts lie beneath it, and forgets to stay angry.

Eventually, Keith clears his throat. “So…where do you want me to start?”

Lance has Keith start on the barn while he handles the watering. It’s an easy choice, since Keith knows the animals almost better than Lance (save for the pigs who arrived only after Keith left). Kosmo gets to earn his keep, too, guarding the cows and horse while Keith mucks out the stalls. The dog’s ears turn in Lance’s direction when he enters the barn, but otherwise he doesn’t move an inch.

Keith does much the same. He barely gives Lance more than an acknowledging glance before getting back to his work. Lance, similarly, avoids Keith’s gaze as he starts on his section of the barn, though he’s keenly aware of Keith’s presence. For a while, the only sounds between them are the rustling of hay and the scrape of the pitchfork.

Lance hates silence. Even after a year and a half of working alone, the empty air still doesn’t fit with his image of this place. During his family’s yearly visits, he had the constant chatter of his siblings while they were being roped into chores. He had his _mamá’s_ scolding and his _abuela’s_ warm laughter. By himself, he’d taken to talking to the animals or listening to music just to drown out the static buzzing in his ears.

Having Keith here just emphasizes the _wrongness_ of the silence. Lance’s memories of their summers together push into the space like a fire seeking oxygen, and it’s like only Lance can feel the heat. He remembers how they bickered like children that first summer and how they flirted the next, throwing hay at each other and laughing. He remembers how even though he was the one doing most of the talking, Keith’s patience and interest rang out clear as a bell.

Now, anything Lance _might_ have wanted to say gets stuck in his throat and makes him feel like he’s swallowed glue.

The silence finally breaks at a sharp bark from Kosmo out by the pasture. Lance looks up to see Kosmo chasing a curious fox away from the fence, before immediately returning to his position. The animals continue grazing, none the wiser.

Lance finally unglues his tongue long enough to let out a low whistle. “Wow. Did you teach him that?”

He turns toward Keith, who just watches the field for a long moment before saying, “No. He was my dad’s dog.”

It’s enough for Lance to clam up again, jaw locking and the old frustration building back up in his chest. They resume their work and don’t speak another word to each other until Keith goes home for the night.

The next few weeks continue like this. Lance spends at least half the time shutting himself out of his own mind just to get through all the strained silences. The result is that he forgets what day it is most of the time, forgets how long he’d been at this before Keith came.

Weeks into his distracted, frustrated state, and by now Lance is used to doing his chores in a daze. Used to tuning out everything Keith. He supposes it’s his price to pay, then, when he plows right through Keith’s warning shout and right into an overhanging bucket with a loud _clang_. The force of it has him staggering back and uttering swears enough to make his _mamá_ cuff him on the ear, had she been there. Through the sound of his rattling brain, Lance hears Keith drop the pitchfork and shuffle over to his side.

Lance tries to wave him off. “It’s fine, Keith, I’m fine.” Okay, a little dizzy, but he’s sure it’s only temporary. When he blinks at Keith, though, it’s through a sudden sticky wetness and he suddenly realizes why Keith looks so concerned.

“Here.” Keith hands Lance a handkerchief he’d been keeping in his shirt pocket and Lance immediately presses it to his bleeding forehead. “Come on, sit down for a minute. I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Lance lets Keith guide him over to a hay bale and slumps down onto it with a groan. The sudden shock of the injury is wearing off, leaving Lance to appreciate the pain and the sensation of the blood slowly soaking Keith’s handkerchief. Is there supposed to be this much?

Keith soon comes back, first aid kit in hand. Maybe he can see Lance starting to panic a little, because he says, “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Head injuries typically just bleed a lot.”

“Very comforting,” Lance says with a slight grumble, though he removes the handkerchief to let Keith tend to the wound.

The expression of pure concentration on Keith’s face as he patches Lance up is both familiar and endearing. It’s the look that he always wore when he really cared about doing something, so that it’s being turned towards caring for Lance is all kinds of wonderful, but also confusing.

Keith, seemingly oblivious to Lance’s inner turmoil, just finishes cleaning and inspecting the wound, still with that same look. “I don’t think it needs stitches, but we should probably have a doctor check it out just in case. Do you feel dizzy at all?”

Lance shakes his head, then winces. Bad idea. “No, not dizzy. Definitely starting to get a headache, though. I’ve got the number for a physician in town, it’s on my phone somewhere.”

He fishes it out of his pocket, at Keith’s prompting, and just sits back while Keith calls the number. It’s not worth all the fuss, he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to insist on it. The confusion won’t leave, and he’s not sure whether it’s that or the head injury that’s making his stomach tie itself into knots.

Teenage Lance would have milked this. He would have whined and pouted and begged Keith to carry him back to the house, then batted his lashes and asked Keith to ‘kiss it better.’ He’s sure Keith would have rolled his eyes and turned a pretty shade of pink, but he would have done it, all while smiling in that way that made Lance’s heart turn into mush. He was easy to tease back then, easy to read, until he left and made Lance wonder whether he had ever read anything right about Keith at all. The doubt carries, and Lance has no idea what Keith would do if he were to try any of it now.

The phone call is short. Lance straightens a little when Keith turns back to him, expression still soft and intense and confusing Lance even more. At the very least, he doesn’t have to wait long for Keith to speak.

“Doctor should be here in maybe twenty minutes. Do you need help getting back to the house?”

Lance starts to shake his head, but far too insistently, and pain flares up almost immediately. Lance groans and holds a hand to his forehead, and it’s all the answer Keith needs. Frustrated, Lance lets out another groan and slumps back against the stall.

The motion rattles the partition, and Lance hears a soft _fwump_ as his coffee mug falls from its perch into a pile of soiled hay.

***

Currently, Lance is wondering where he went wrong in all this. The obvious answer is that it was a mistake to let Keith Kogane back into his life, no matter the reason. He could have pointed Keith to any other number of jobs in town, called in a recommendation; he certainly knows enough people here. Not that he’s really talked to any of them since coming here. They’d probably have pointed back at Lance, anyway, wondering why it was so important for Lance to keep up on this place by himself.

Lance kind of wonders that, too, as he sits here on the porch, sporting a massive bruise and a mild concussion, watching Keith finish the rest of the chores all by himself. Which he did only after fussing over Lance for a half an hour following the doctor’s visit, and then only with the concession that Kosmo stay with Lance just in case. Lance isn’t sure what the dog could do, but he is good company, at least.

It’s very sweet of Keith, and very typical of the boy that Lance fell in love with. It’s hard to reconcile with the Keith that left him, but really, that’s been the problem since day one. Since before Keith came back, even. And Lance thinks that maybe, where he went wrong was thinking there was even an answer at all.

It’s nearly sundown by the time Keith finishes working. Lance tracks him from the barn up to the porch, aware of the tension in his shoulders and that constant concern in his eyes. He gives Kosmo a pet before looking at Lance, and asking how he’s feeling.

“Head still sore?”

“Little bit,” Lance admits. “But I’ll live.” He picks up a bottle he’d set next to him and hands it over to Keith. “Here, have a beer.”

Keith frowns. “You really shouldn’t be drinking after—”

“ _I’m_ not drinking, doofus, I’m giving _you_ one,” Lance says. “Take it. Sit.”

Just like the first time, Keith reads the insistence in Lance’s stare and he hesitates, but he takes the bottle and sits, bereft of a choice. Unlike the first time, though, he doesn’t seem to know where this is heading, and he keeps looking at Lance through sips of his beer like he’s waiting to get stabbed in the neck. Lance picks up his own drink (juice, the only thing he can really have right now thanks to his stupid concussion), and sips slowly as he thinks. He knows where he wants this to go, but he needs to work up the nerve to go there.

“I need to know why you left me, Keith,” he says at last. “I need to know why you didn’t say goodbye.”

His hands are shaking, so he keeps the bottle of juice firmly in his lap. He can feel the memories welling up, clogging his throat like all the rest, but these ones bring tears with them. He remembers that spring, waiting on the letters they would pass back and forth during the year, his heart sinking lower and lower when none arrived. He remembers going back that summer only for his grandparents to tell him that Keith had moved away to go to school somewhere, but that he hadn’t said where. He remembers the long looks from his family.

Keith tenses, and gives Lance a look of his own again—that look, the guilt that Lance has seen him wearing from day one. It should be exactly what Lance wants, but it’s not. Lance isn’t asking him to fix what he broke. Lance isn’t broken. He’s just tired of the silence.

Keith finally sighs, guilt filtering out to a sort of acceptance. “Yeah, okay. I owe you that. But it…Lance, it was so stupid. I was a stupid, stupid coward, and you deserved better.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Lance replies. His tone is short, but he’s not angry. He’s been struggling to hold onto that since Keith came back. “Still waiting on a reason, though.”

“I loved you,” Keith says. His hand is settled on Kosmo’s head, shaking fingers stroking as though to ground him. “I loved you, and we were just teenagers, and it scared me. Everything I’d learned up to that point told me that falling in love that fast just ends…bad. And I was scared that neither one of us was going to come out of it in the end.”

Keith shudders on a breath, then takes a long drink from the bottle.

“I had a dozen excuses for not telling you. I don’t even remember half of them now, but…I convinced myself that we’d both be better off. Kept imagining you being happier without me. If I’d talked to you, or my…my dad, maybe I could’ve…but I don’t know. There’s no going back.”

“No,” Lance agrees. He finally feels himself relax as he pulls in a breath, then he lets it out in one big rush.

“Well, that’s all I needed,” he says. He takes the rest of his juice in one gulp. Next to him, Keith lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Seriously? That’s it? And here I was, thinking you were going to make me beg for forgiveness.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” Lance admits, chuckling. “You absolutely broke my heart into tiny pieces that year, Keith, but…I don’t know. The worst part was just…not knowing why. Gave me too much room to imagine all the things I did wrong.” He shrugs, then tilts his head back to look at the stars beginning to freckle the darkening sky. He lets out another breath, this one full of calm.

“Does it make me a bad person if I feel better knowing that you were just as torn up about it as I was?”

Keith shrugs, too, and takes another drink from his half-empty bottle. “I think I would have felt the same way, in your place.”

“Yeah? Well…that kind of makes me feel better, too.”

They fall into silence, Lance tapping on his empty juice bottle while Keith continues slowly sipping from his own. This silence is different from the others, easy and breakable, and Lance doesn’t really mind it. He lets it settle between them for a while, untouched, until the last star lights the sky and Keith finally stands to leave.

“I should head home,” he says. “But, uh…thanks, for…this. I think I needed it.”

“Be happy to call you out anytime,” Lance replies playfully, before his mood sobers a bit. There’s one last thing on his mind. “And I, uh, should have said this properly before, but I’m saying it now…I’m really sorry about your dad.”

Keith’s expression softens, and he offers Lance a sad, gentle smile. “Thanks, Lance.”

He turns and starts down the steps, and Lance gets up to start clearing the porch. Keith then stops and doubles back, fishing around in his coat pocket for something, which he then hands to Lance.

“Almost forgot. Found this in the barn.” There’s an amused glint in Keith’s eye. He gives Lance a little nod, then starts down the steps again. “Good night, Lance.”

As he leaves, Lance looks down at the object in his hands, then lets out a frustrated grunt.

His stupid coffee mug is going to need washing again.


End file.
